The first time I vomited from running was the first time I ran the 400 metres. It was my freshman year of high school, at an indoor track meet against our rivals, Ipswich. Like most high school sports events in Massachusetts, a small state dominated by nerdy east-coast democrats, the meet was a minor and somewhat ramshackle affair. There were about five legitimate spectators – all parents – and the gun kept misfiring. The entire place stunk of gun smoke, sweaty gym socks and meatloaf from the adjacent school cafeteria. Even so, the afternoon was going well. I had won the 55-metre dash with relative ease and we were trouncing Ipswich. But then my coach walked over. ‘Plitt, warm up,’ he said. ‘You’re running the 4x4.’ The 4x4 is track-slang for the 400-metre relay, in which four people run 400 metres each, passing a baton between them. I was slated to run the second leg. (more...)